


Because It Has Always Been You

by Dulcesia



Category: A3! (Video Game)
Genre: Drabble, Fluff, Gen, Other, Romance, Self-Insert, i really love homare!!! all i do is think about kissing him and holding his hand, these are really self indulgent snippets about how much i love the best a3 boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:01:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25344379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dulcesia/pseuds/Dulcesia
Summary: Homare tries his hand at love again.
Relationships: Arisugawa Homare/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 35





	1. Poem

Homare loves you.

He loves you so, and he can never find the right words to express it.

A hundred, no, a thousand, no, a _million_ poems would never be enough to convey his emotions. There are not enough words to describe the lovely shade of your eyes, and the warmth of your hands, and the way your laughter leaves him intoxicated.

How can Homare make anyone understand?

He loves the way you listen to him ramble on and on about the most mundane things. He loves the way you pepper kisses against his face each night until he is breathless. He loves the way you slip your hand in his, as if it simply is meant to be there.

After all, he is not an easy person to love. He understands that much. Homare has never quite understood how to read the room, and how to read between the lines, and how to read the intricate dances of social cues and expectations. He is just like his poems; few listen, and fewer understand.

But you. You read his poetry. You love him, and you listen, and you try. You patiently reach out to him. And maybe Homare can bring himself to reach back and meet you somewhere halfway. 

With one awkward step at a time, he will try to understand you. And maybe he can make this work. Maybe he won’t have to be afraid anymore.

It will be okay. He will be okay.

How can Homare not, when creativity is ultimately rooted in love, and you fill his heart with poems?


	2. Garden

There is a garden in Homare’s heart, and every flower grows for you. 

He isn’t sure when the first seed was planted, but what did that matter? It could have been from any small moment: the way you tuck your hair behind your ear, the way you laugh, the way your hand rests on his arm. Little by little, day by day, nourished by your smile and touch, his garden grows, until he can no longer ignore it. 

Homare is afraid. 

He has already hurt someone else before with his ineptitude. He is horribly flawed, and it is more likely than not that you will reject him. He has none of Tsumugi’s gentless, or Azuma’s charm. 

But you have already seeded every inch of his heart with lilies and daffodils, azaleas and peonies. Homare can’t go back to the way things were before, even if he wants it to. How can he ever willingly let you go?

That is why, the first time you tell him you love him, Homare laughs.

It is simply impossible. He writes about miracles, but he does not believe in them. And yet, here you are.

Homare takes your hands in his, and, as eloquently as he can, tries to describe the garden in his heart.


	3. Night

Homare’s pocket watch glows like a miniature star under the moonlight, and he watches as you gently run a finger along its face. In moments like this, it feels like you cradle his heart in your palms.

The night is calm and gentle. There is no wind, and the air is warm. Moonlight floats in through the open window. It is just the two of you, awake in the early hours of the morning, and the world is yours.

Homare’s head rests on your shoulder, and your arm wraps around him. He watches as you carefully study the pocket watch, turning it over in your hands.

It has become a habit for you to fiddle with it, and you most likely pick it up from him. When he needs reassurance, he finds himself pulling out his pocket watch. It reminds him of all the precious things he has accumulated: the friends who love him, the belonging he has found, and his grandmother, who tried her best to reach out to him.

And it also reminds Homare of you, someone who is so lovely he is certain the sun and the moon must be jealous of the way you glow.

You yawn, and he raises himself to press a sleepy kiss to your cheek. You are real, and you are here. With your arms warm around him, all he can think is, this is love. Oh, this is love.


	4. Love

Homare notices every little thing about you.

He remembers every mention of your favorite color, and the silly childhood memories, and the way you bounce your leg when you are nervous. The things you like, and the things you don’t; the things you dream and the things you fear: somehow, the knowledge accumulates bit by bit inside of him, until you take up every inch of his heart.

So Homare loves you the best he can.

Homare brings you gifts. Without even trying, he finds pieces of you, everywhere he looks. He brings you flowers, brilliant red roses that he claims matches your unparalleled beauty. He brings home high quality tea leaves, and asks you to share a cup with him. He brings you a stuffed animal, because it was cute and it looked like you.

Homare gives you all of his attention. Before you leave for a meeting, Homare rushes to hand you an umbrella, warning you about the dark storm clouds on the horizon. When you try to walk somewhere in the dark, Homare insists on accompanying you, patiently waiting until you finish whatever you set out to do. When the weather turns freezing, and your breath clouds the air, Homare wraps a scarf around your neck, lamenting what a shame it would be if you were to fall sick.

Homare gives you all of his time. He brings you wherever he can, to whatever strange attraction interests him. A light show, an aquarium, a set of abandoned train tracks stretching into the distance. He shows you an old shrine, a secluded street with old stores, an amusement park. He gives you the world, a bit at a time.

Homare delights in your touch. Somehow, he reaches for you unconsciously, as if he can not bear to be apart from you for even a second. He revels in the warmth of your hands, links them together at every opportunity. At night, he seeks the shelter of your arms, letting you run your hands through his hair. He surprises you with hugs, latching on to you from behind, nuzzling his face into your neck.

Homare hopes it is enough. He hopes you can understand how much he adores you. He will kiss poetry onto your skin and say your name like a prayer, because everything he does is for you.


End file.
